With all faded inks, all the moment

perished, blast— stories begin exactly

where it ends, all in once that's done.

I scarcely think about the years, gapped

between unknown numbers.

Dual monitor,

Just punch 3,2,4,

Hello—?

Nope, maybe call at the best hours.

I see, the faltering breath in each step

trying to get apart, stillness wide open

awake, by the fire in the long fuzzy blanket—

Some days are full of bright ears,

Worn out in a snazzy kind glance.

But I don't look for you,

Only to hear what perils fold,

papers crumbled into tiny balls,

“Clarity is only concise, precise.”

Glad I’ve joined the doom holocaust.

Stirred my life into dread charm.

— 19th January, 2024.